Strictly Professional
by groovyarchitect
Summary: "How else am I supposed to remember what you've told me? If," she returned his stare coolly, "hypothetically speaking, of course, there is a problem, don't you think it'd only be beneficial if diagnosed properly?" Royai. Psychiatrist AU.
1. Strictly Professional

Riza Hawkeye had recently finished straightening her desk when she heard a man's indignant shout travel through the waiting room and into her office. The young woman hastily gathered her hair and secured it in place with her favorite brown clip; she wouldn't appear to be anything less than strictly professional around any of her patients. More shouts echoed down the hallway—well, she had been warned that he could potentially be the most difficult patient she'd be helping. With a quick glance to an elegantly framed PhD hanging behind her desk she started down the hallway, slipping thinly rimmed glasses into her pockets.

The only occupant in the waiting room other than the receptionist, Rebecca, was obviously her client who was dressed in a police uniform and Riza presumed he'd just finished his shift. As she was never one to deviate from the status quo her brown eyes scanned the clipboard in her hand as if there were ten people sitting alongside him. Finding the name Riza asked for one "Mr. Roy Mustang" with surprisingly little inflection. The blonde took note of his fidgeting, quickly promising herself to do everything in her power not to strain his tenuous self composure. He was tall with broad shoulders, high cheek bones, black hair and onyx eyes that were focused entirely on her.

"My name is Riza Hawkeye. Well then, Mr. Mustang, if you would please follow me this way to my office." She stated and watched as he drew himself out of the chair, finding that he was taller than originally thought. He shifted warily, but followed quietly behind to her office listening to the steady hum on rain. Riza settled into a red chair in her sparsely decorated office, indicating with a flick of her eyes that the blue chair opposite her was the one Roy should take. The man did so, mouth twitching with anger.

"If you have any concerns, I would appreciate you divulging them to me now." The doctor stated, fully aware of the unclosed door behind them. Accepting the invitation, Roy's voice rang in Riza's ears,

"I don't need to be here; I'm perfectly fine! All of this is Chief Bradley's f-" Despite his rising temper the deputy held his tongue, remembering that he was in the presence of a woman, "damn fault. He's convinced I need this, but I don't. I am a trained professional. If you'd please excuse me, miss-" He stood abruptly and Riza interrupted, raising her hands in a placating gesture.

"It's Dr, and I'm sure your Chief has your well being in mind. Please, sit down an-"

Roy grit his teeth; she certainly was a stubborn woman. His eyes locked with hers and roared, "I told you that I'm perfectly fine, goddammit!"

Never batting an eye at his outburst, she continued calmly, "If you feel this strongly about it would you at least consider _humoring_ me, Mr. Mustang?"

He deliberated; Dr. Hawkeye seemed intent on gaining some information on him, and even he believed this probably wasn't the worst thing in the world to be doing. His dreams and emotional state were far from normal as of late. Roy sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around the room. Riza sensed her victory and gestured for him to sit again while closing the door behind him.

"I can assure you that whatever is said in this office will be kept in the strictest confidence."

"Then why the clipboard?" He inquired, focusing his acidic stare on the object in her hands.

"How else am I supposed to remember what you've told me? If," she returned his stare coolly, "hypothetically speaking, of course, there _is _a problem, don't you think it'd only be beneficial if diagnosed properly?"

Finding no room to argue an almost strangled noise forced its way out of his throat.

"My thoughts exactly. Now then, Mr. Mustang, would you like to tell me why your superior requested you to meet with a psychiatrist?"

"...I'm not sure—he has reasons. I don't know what he thinks."

She nodded, opening a notebook and writing his response neatly on the first margin. There had to be a way to steer him from answering vaguely, though it was to be expected, at first.

"I see. Would you like to tell me anything about him?" Riza questioned gently, hoping that if he would not talk about himself then Mr. Mustang would respond positively to impersonal questions.

At the mention of discussing his commanding officer it seemed as if the raven haired man was compelled by a perverse and fervent desire to mention the personal hell his life had become over the last two years to a complete stranger.

Riza occupied herself with the occasional nod and recording everything Roy had said verbatim, and the result was slightly alarming. In the hour that passed, she could link several diagnosis together.

"...In short, he thinks I'm unfit for service anymore. It's almost as if he wants to make me quit! The last Chief actually had faith in his subordinates! He complains that I'm not eating or sleeping enough, that I'm violent, or that it's too damn hard to trust me on the job. That I'll just decide nothing's worth doing anymore; that I think living's too difficult to handle. He...He's a liar, and he wants to displace me." Having said his piece, Roy had expended the energy to sit straight in his outburst and deflated into his seat, the bags under his eyes betraying his pride. He was a man who had seen the cruelty of the world and had been aged far beyond his twenty eight years of life.

In the silence that followed Dr. Hawkeye pursed her lips, coming to a decision that she hoped would please her patient.

"I feel as though it'd be...beneficial to continue these visits to my fath—to St. Flamel's Clinic—if you want to prove your commanding officer wrong, that is." She sensed the waves of animosity radiating from the deputy and shook her head.

"No, I think with a little attention you'll be able to live with an active job as a police men. Until then, I advise you to tell him that this meeting was satisfactory and you will attend more of them."

The deputy made a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, only to meet a chilling glare from his—god forbid permanent-psychiatrist. "If it somehow causes the chief to change his mind then a few meetings is less punishment then I thought he'd put he through." With this, he retrieved his coat and left; Riza could hear the charming goodbye he offered to Rebecca after scheduling his next appointments before slamming the door shut.

At the bottom of the paper she had written the following; has trust issues, is possibly suicidal, paranoid, or depressed, suffers from obvious anger issues and ….."

The young doctor had left a rather wide margin of space for further diagnosis in case any came to mind during their regularly scheduled appointments for four every Monday evening. She rubbed his eyes with her palms, released the clasp on her hair, and closed the door to her office without so much as a sound.

She walked out of the building with her friend, accepting her invitation for dinner that night. The dinners usually consisted of her receptionist's complaints surrounding her love life, animals, and horrible landlord, but they served as a tether to a quaint reality to which the doctor was steadily becoming estranged.

"What're you holding in your hand, Riza?" Rebecca inquired, pointing to the manila folder in the psychiatrist's right hand.

"...Apparently it's my most recent patient's file." She replied, golden brows furrowing as she considering placing it in the green cabinet with the rest of them. _No_, she thought suddenly, _if Mr. Mustang is that concerned about what we discuss, I should probably keep it separate from all the other patient's. It's what he would want...I think._

"I whisked him out to the car before Mustang walked by, I didn't know what sort of mood he'd be in."

Her employee opened the passenger's seat, only to be the recipient of several kisses from Black Hayate. Upon seeing his master he lept into the driver's seat, he let out several shrill yips of joy, and retreated into the back seat so his master could sit.

"He's so loyal, Riza, but you need a real man."

"Black Hayate is a man." The employer responded bluntly.

"He hasn't been a man after he was six months old." Rebecca sniggered, reminding Riza to make a left turn so they wouldn't miss the next intersection.

Yes, it seemed that reality was only pleasant to a select few.


	2. In Which Your Faith Wavers

The next Monday evening one Riza Hawkeye was taking a sip of her lukewarm coffee after finishing balancing her checkbook. She was ridiculously pleased to find that her business, while in no means incredibly lucrative, was in fact making more than a modest sum. It seemed to be the only spot of good news the doctor found as of late. She almost divulged to Rebecca that it was alarmingly difficult to stay away from her business—but why?

Her reverie was broken with a quiet knock. "Roy Mustang." A voice called gruffly from the other side of the oak structure. How did she miss Rebecca's usual clamor of excitement reserved for their attractive clients? (This would, of course, be discussed immediately after Roy left; no matter how dear her friend was driving away potential clients would not be tolerated).

"Oh," Riza muttered with a start, mouthing 'damn it' as she hurried to straighten her desk. Ever the organized entrepreneur she filed the checkbooks away, replaced the pin in her hair, and opened the door for her client in twenty seconds.

"I'm sorry for the delay." The doctor muttered, gesturing for the police officer to enter her office. He placed his black jacket on the hanger with less suspicion than last time and waited expectantly for the blonde to take her seat first. She quirked an eyebrow but did as the social custom dictated, smoothing out her cardigan lest she have to iron it again. This, she supposed, was the reason that her receptionist would never shut up about him.

"Coffee?" She inquired, taking a small sip of her own and setting it back on the table with a faint _clink._

Onyx eyes searched her face, attempting to uncover a hint of discomfort. "No...I had a cup before I came." She nodded, expression neutral, noting that his answer was hesitant and repressed the instinct to immediately reach for her clipboard. The blonde resolved to remember the information accurately, saving the report for later in the hopes that more genuine information and breakthroughs would be given and occur without deeply personal questions so soon.

"How was your week, Mr. Mustang? Any hardships at the office?" She asked calmly, waiting as he deliberated.

"Nothing unusual; we had two drug busts, a break in, and...", Roy finished unceremoniously, "we rescued a cat."

"Why a cat?"

He shrugged, she noticed the almost green pallor of his skin. Sleep deprivation?

"Search me, a six year old panicked when her cat was stuck in a tree. I rescued it."

"Interesting. A child you're familiar with?" _Earlier you said 'we'._

"No." Roy answered quietly, response rehearsed to alleviate any suspicions. How long had it been since he'd told anyone? A year? Or was it two?

"Very well, then. May I ask you some slightly personal questions?"

"Sure. They can't be worse than filing reports, nothing is."

"Bear in mind that I said _slightly personal_. If any of my questions make you uncomfortable, you don't have to answer them." She reminded gently as Roy's gaze locked firmly on her own, pride belied the nervous tension.

So they began the harrowing round of questions. The more Roy averted answering with personal information, the more pointed Riza's questions became until a cycle was formed. Nothing, she noted with concern, seemed to rouse him. Every answer was detached, calculated, and slipped between the crevices of fact and fiction.

"You've passed on forty two of my questions, therefore, you haven't answered a one." Her tone wasn't judgmental, merely filled with concern and a hint of indignation if Roy believed that she would not fulfill her duty to the utmost. A silence filled the room as the deputy (who rarely attended church) sent out a silent prayer to some deity that she wouldn't find a reason for him to continue these visits. The doctor's search for truth, no matter how pure her intentions were, reminded him of the Chief's sly and, at times, smarmy questions regarding his predecessor. What disturbed him the most, however, was his persistence at requesting his whereabouts frequently and so Roy, who no longer trusted himself to file reports, handed the duty to one of his underlings.

The silence permeated the room so Riza utilized it to devise a new series of questions.

"What would you say that your employer is after? You mentioned he wanted something last time." She stated quietly, fingers itching for the familiar task of recording every word even though her efforts thus far had been fruitless.

Roy glanced up, the corners of his mouth twitching slightly. "I wouldn't know. He seems to want everyone fired?" He muttered, reflecting the doctors inquiry with his own inflection. She prayed he wouldn't remember his bizarre outburst.

"...Oh? That's not what you said last week."

He would've blanched if his face contained a drop of blood, but all of it rushed to his head. Searching for a plausible excuse.

"Yeah, fired, like I said." He paused, trying to piece together some sort of plausible lie.

"Are they insubordinate? Does he have a reason to distrust his subordinates?"

The young man glanced up, the listless look in his eyes waging war with a rusted sense of dignity and despair. His chest tightened and it was as if the effort to maintain the strong emotion would kill him. The last ember of his fire had been extinguished last week, at home, after this very appointment. Is that why he hated her so? No, at least, not as of now. At the moment he hated having been sent here in the first place; this was the epitome of having no one to turn to or to trust. She was merely an outlet for the rage he wished he had.

"No. They don't." He answered calmly, eyes rising to meet her own and the young woman swore that she detected unspoken despair somewhere in the gray irises.

"Do _you _have any reason to distrust him, Mr. Mustang." No hesitation, none at all.

His mouth went dry and it was a momentous affair to merely lock gazes and answer in the negative which, apparently, she would not accept.

"No, I don't. We—I—follow him without question, like the old Chief. He's informative, direct, and one hell of a shot."

He seemed satisfied with his answer, but the glint in her eyes suggested that was willing to continue and time was her ally in this sudden war.

"You've avoided my question entirely. Shall I rephrase it?" Riza nodded to herself and restated, "Does following him make you uncomfortable?"

Roy gripped the edges of the arm rests. The comfy chair and walls seemed suffocating, inimical.

She smiled pleasantly, expectantly, urging him on.

"No, but you do." He deadpanned, Riza's brow furrowing instantly though she continued with the same monotonous tone.

"Has he ever given you a reason to distrust him?"

The man couldn't surreptitiously wipe his palms on his pants, but he felt the slick perspiration triggered by fear. The atmosphere was devoid of oxygen, her steady gaze providing both relief from the rising waves but also more fuel for his mental state.

How could he look a man in the eye and kill him, how could deliver the news of untimely, homicide to an unsuspecting, innocent family yet he couldn't answer some little therapist's damn questions? I am, he cursed himself, weak.

"No."

"Is there anyone else in the station that may share your feelings?"

"No."

It continued just so for another fifteen minutes until Riza retrieved her pen and clipboard.

"What would you say is the most definitive trait he possesses?"

The answer came with such ease. "He's smarmy, a liar."

"How does following him make you feel?"

"Like everyday is a cesspool of misery."

"Why?"

"Because he's an unfit leader."

"Is that so?"

"It is."

"Who writes the follow up reports for the missions you and your team are assigned? Don't you have to write those?"

He affirmed her second inquiry with a nod and said, "My subordinates. I don't have time to write them myself.

"But I was under the belief that the deputy would be in charge of handling those files...it makes the most sense that you would write them. Is there anything you don't want him to see?" The psychiatrist droned, amber gaze and pointed questions driving him into a corner as though he were a feral cat. _Is he the dangerous one, or is it his chief? Or is it the simplest answer I have?_

"Are you accusing me of betraying my subordinates?" His retort, still lifeless, had an edge that it had not held previously.

"Not at all, though it seems as though you are leading me to believe so. Is it you, or is it him?" She knew she had him, she _knew._

"It's. Always. Him." Though his voice was quiet and listless his glare would have frozen hell. "Everything he does and says is a goddamn lie. Ask anyone who works with me. You think he's great, don't you? He's hell to work for, and he's hell to know."

Roy couldn't handle this anymore. How many years had it been? One? Or Two? The young man felt as though he wanted to leave and never come back. He didn't need any of this; it was all his Chief's fault—no—plan. He remembered his promise, and was never a man to go back on his word.

"_He's trying to kill me." _Roy choked out in a whisper, feeling as though he had betrayed himself somehow.

The silence was deafening.

Finally someone knew. The relief was intoxicating, dizzying, he wanted to weep. Displaying that feeling a huge endeavor. Roy tried, but he couldn't do it. Too much, too soon. Everyday required emotional connections, and every single one, save two, was a lie. At least he'd fulfilled his promise; he was attempting to get help. Even listening to Riza, and not brushing the woman's opinions aside as though they were filth under a mattress, It was far better than the buzz of alcohol he'd sworn off so long ago. One year or two? He couldn't remember.

The aforementioned silence was desecrated by the faint scratching of Riza's pen.

"What are you writing?" The deputy inquired cautiously, the acrid tone from before gone.

Her eyes locked with his as she stated, "A diagnoses. You did say that we should endeavor to make this, what did you say, 'Not a complete and utter waste of my time.'?"

Somehow, the familiar feeling of shame welled up inside the public serviceman. He recalled voicing that opinion last week to the receptionist. His mouth opened and the doctor supplied the name,

"Rebecca told me." The blonde supplied quietly, eyes never once leaving his, The deputy struggled to maintain his erect posture and another silence ensued, worse than the one before it. Riza rose from her seat, clipboard and pen forgotten, and the solace she provided, though unfathomably awkward, was more than welcome.

"...I'll help you, Roy, if you let me. I told you that every word said here is confidential. So, will you let me?"

He sighed deeply, scrambled thought process recovering from his earlier confession. Then, like an expert marksman, Riza's question was lodged uncomfortably in his abdomen I was as if an arrow buried itself up to its shaft in his stomach; a bullet had blown through and obliterated vital organs. The bone-deep pain was a disturbing mixture of both. She should have been an officer.

"Is there someone you're doing this for?" She cajoled warmly, realizing that he hadn't swatted her away as he would have done last week. An imperceptible nod was the only indication she received.

"...Then think of them when you doubt coming here, when you want to quit. This isn't only about your boss it is?" The deputy's answer was unintelligible, but Riza interpreted it to be a loose 'Yes'.

"I think it's time I excused myself." Roy whispered flatly, glancing at a clock which read 5:30 precisely. As he retrieved his black jacket a small object fluttered gracefully onto the floor. The doctor bent to pick it up, but was sharply rebuked by her client.

"I'll take that, thank you." He snarled, efforts consumed as he fought to not snatch it from her hands. It could have been fear or jealously speaking but once the policeman replaced the small square into his inner jacket pocket his shoulders and expression relaxed.

"It's...personal." Roy explained stupidly, knowing that Riza would have conjectured this when she withdrew her hand as if he shoved it into hot coals.

"Next week, then." She muttered as he stepped out of her office.

He turned and nodded, which was the most the doctor could have asked of him at that time.

At the bottom of her clipboard she had plainly written the following:

_Trust Issues and Depression_


	3. The End of the Silver Lining

That same Wednesday Roy Mustang's eyes met the man's who had just finished the allotted and necessary (yet, at times, cliché) telephone call. The guy seemed compliant enough, Roy supposed, as the offender sat in the cell and rambled to himself. Shaking hands cradled a tangled mop of red hair, but the apologies uttered were wasted on the deputy; the twenty eight year old's life wasn't blown apart by a car barreling through a red light into an intersection. He was, however, requested to make sense of the stomach-wrenching aftermath of a mother's loss. The blue irises were red rimmed from what Roy knew was alcohol due to the breath analyzer test. Tears, however, also seemed plausible but they earned no sympathy from the officer.

"It seems like you've got time to think about the accident you just caused, don't you?" He muttered coldly, averting his gaze from the man's pitiful state.

"Y-Yeah, man. I—I'm real sorry a-about the, uh, I didn't see—I couldn't." The red head babbled incoherently, his inebriated state doing nothing to endear him to the stoic officer.

He sighed. "No, but I'm afraid you could have seen the light since there was an obvious excess of alcohol."

"...I. I didn't mean it." The driver rasped between deep breaths.

This time, Roy's response was quiet, exhausted. "I'm sure you didn't, but regardless of your intent a child is dead and her mother is in the hospital." With that, the Deputy walked away from the latest incident in a long line of drunk drivers and innocent families. He removed his hat from his head, unfastened the top button of his uniform and ran a hand through his inky hair. The single sigh Roy allowed himself was privy to the only man who would share it.

"Well now, Roy, you're looking a little worse for wear, aren't you?" A familiar voice greeted tiredly, giving the deputy a rather hard pat on the back.

"I should say the same for you. Can't go home to a wife if you look that tired, can you? Maybe she'll start to think you've found someone else." He countered, chuckling in spite of himself.

At this his long time friend looked positively offended, eyes meeting Roy's over the frames of his glasses. "My Gracie?" He inquired with more volume than necessary, causing the deputy to roll his eyes. "Nah, we've only been married five years."

"That, Hughes, doesn't mean anything to some people." The friend answered with a derisive snort.

"I'm not 'some people'; I'm a loving husband." Maes assured himself with a smile as he thought of his family. "Speaking of which," he continued, "you really should find yourself a wife. Home-cooked meals are better than the takeout restaurants you frequent when you don't stop by. And Gracie and I agree that you don't visit nearly enough. Hey, I brought you to work and I can bring you by my house before dropping you off again." The other senior officer told Roy, hoping to guilt him into visiting his home. Surely he wasn't truly comfortable in that lonely place he called a house—devoid of a wife and children?

"No; listen, I've got some cold leftovers in the fridge and they'll go to waste if I don't eat them soon."

"Argh, Roy, you're going to turn down Gracie's chicken stew?"

Hughes's melodramatic inquiry was met with silence as the deputy rolled his eyes once more. Never one to admit defeat so easily (or let a friend eat what he considered cold mush compared to his wife's meals) the officer attempted another angle.

"What about Elysia?" Maes asked, literally shoving his phone into Roy's face where the illuminated background of the child's face burned itself into his friend's retinas.

"Dammit, Hughes! Watch where you put your phone!" The deputy squawked in surprise, amazed that the force of the father's enthusiasm hadn't thrown him from his chair. 

"Sorry," he grinned sheepishly, but continued as though he'd shown Roy the meaning of life, "but she'd be crushed if you didn't stop by. She missed her 'Uncle' Roy last weekend." He finished with a dejected sigh and Roy could only imagine how he would hear about this until his dying day. The pair had attended college together and to this day Hughes had never let him forget his responsibility for tardiness on his Biology final. Or the begging that allowed him to take it afterward.

"Alright, if you keep quiet about it then sure." Roy answered, feigning a surly demeanor so it wouldn't appear that he acquiesced so easily. In truth, the twenty eight year old, though envious of his senior's family, loved spending time with Hughes and the two people his oldest friend considered to be the centers of his universe.

The pair opened the glass double doors and Roy listened to Maes's latest rant over Elysia's latest accomplishment in kindergarten until they reached his car. The deputy chose the passenger seat and roared, "WHAT THE HELL, MAES?", when the lights revealed a mammoth photo of the child on the shade resting on the windshield.

"Isn't she great?" The father asked happily, mistaking his friend's horror for amazement.

"No," Roy answered deadpan, pulse having skyrocketed through the roof, "now drive or I swear I'll walk home."

Twenty minutes later Roy was stepping over the slight mess in Maes's garage. He safely reached the door and admired the small, quaint wonder of the Hughes household before stepping into the threshold after hearing the familiar 'you won't eat leftovers again/you're practically family' chastisement. The deputy heard ringing laughter from Gracie and spotted the child's pigtails bobbing up and down in excitement from behind the coach.

"Oh, hello, Roy." She greeted warmly and noticed the curious look on the deputy's face. "She wants to surprise him." The mother stated gently from the kitchen and though her husband knew the routine he was always as amazed as he was the first time she ran to see him.

Maes stepped in behind Roy, throwing his coat on the rack and kneeling to intercept a flying Elysia.

"Daddy! Daddy, you're home!" She squealed happily, burying her face into his shoulder.

"How was your day, princess?" He inquired gently, lifting her into his arms. She giggled and pointed excitedly when she noticed 'Uncle' Roy.

"It was fun, I drew some pictures!" Elysia wriggled her way out of her father's arms, grabbed Roy and Maes's hands and led them to the refrigerator. She dropped her grip, pointed to a fat, orange doodle with whiskers and beamed proudly. "It's s'posed to be Pumpkin, but it looks more like a dog 'nstead. Wha'dya think, Uncle Roy?" She inquired but quieted immediately after in thought.

"I think it looks...nice." He said quietly, brows furrowing as he watched the little girl's expression change.

The blonde's eyes grew quite large as an idea struck her and she quirked her head to one side to glance up to Maes adoringly.

"Daddy...can we have a puppy, too!"

It was clear to Roy that in ten years that Maes had better keep a close eye on his wallet.

"Why, of course you can, princ-" He began happily, but Gracie shook her head while carrying the stew to the dining room table.

"Maes, we already have a cat, and this house is fairly small as it is." She muttered, walking past to place the side dishes onto the table. He glanced to their daughter and the mother let out a sigh.

"Alright, alright...we'll talk about it." She said in exasperation; Maes placed a small kiss on her cheek and Elysia told Roy about her adventures that day as they seated themselves at the table. From inside the kitchen the deputy heard the following,

"I'll carry the last dish, sweetheart. You're the best." The man sighed fondly and Roy found himself slightly envious that to Hughes each day with Gracie was exactly like the first.

"Yes," she agreed playfully, "I'm also the only reason we don't have two ponies, glass slippers, ruby slippers, an ice cream machine, and _five _play castles."

"I know." Maes said as he placed the bread on the table in front of Elysia and Roy.

"I said _five_ castles, Maes."

The dinner, Roy noted, was spectacular as always. Each family member dove in with an appropriate mixture of politeness and gusto, piling their plates high with piping hot dishes. He always found himself doing the same and taking seconds as Gracie cooked plenty for everyone. Conversation was also another thing that came easily to him around these people. Each question asked was meant kindly, and each member at the table was spoken to for an equal share of time.

The house's unpredictability proved problematic at some points, though.

Roy's palms beaded with perspiration as a shrill wail filled the house. His fork clattered noisily to the ground and he was poised to shove himself from the table.

"Chill, Roy, it's only the roast potatoes." Maes said, hands raised in a placating gesture as Gracie rose to bring the dish to the table. Elysia reached over and gave the young man's arm a rough pat. "They're just 'tatoes, Uncle Roy." She explained, imitating her father while peering up at him worriedly before returning to her warm dinner. The tension drained from his shoulders as the alarm was silenced with a faint _beep_ as the mother turned the stove off. She returned and set the potatoes beside the stew in the center of the table.

"I'm so sorry, Roy. I completely forgot." Gracie stated apologetically as he shook his head.

"No...I'm, uh, actually seeing someone about that now..." Roy muttered awkwardly, hoping his friends would be pleased by this recent event.

"We're glad; I'm sure that this will be good for you. You were talking about it for a while. It's a step in the right direction." Gracie said warmly, smiling to ease Roy's nervousness.

"I'll be damned!" Maes exclaimed happily, patting his best friend roughly on the back and causing him to choke slightly on his water.

"Maes!" Gracie reprimanded her husband with a small glare, "Language!" Elysia looked over at her father and clapped her hands, laughing mischievously.

"Oooh, Daddy you're in trouble with Mommy!"

Roy disregarded the banter of the Hughes family in favor for a disconcerting noise he could barely hear. His breathing quickened as questions raced through his mind. What was it? Where was it coming from? His eyes shifted to search every object in the room and excused himself promptly to search for it. He paced around the room. Where? Where? _Where?_

The deputy exited the room, the quiet sounds of speech becoming slightly louder. He followed the noise to the sitting room on the back porch, shoving past Elysia's things to an object veiled by a blanket.

_Was someone hiding underneath it?_

Roy ripped the plush blanket and was met with the grim face of a news reporter. Maes and Gracie walked over, evidently concerned by their friend's erratic behavior. They reminded themselves that Riza Hawkeye had not known Roy long enough for this issue to present itself, but they hoped she would treat it with understanding.

The light of the TV only made the deputy's complexion seem paler, but even more blood drained from his face when he adjusted the volume of the television set. The news reporter's voice echoed throughout the small room,

"The victim, a young woman, was brutally murdered sometime early this morning. Authorities have not released her name to protect the privacy of the family, and it is not known if she had any relationship with the killer." The camera angle shifted back to the bloodied scene and a white sheet covering the victim's body, though red splotches were overtaking the crisp fabric. More fabric sheets littered the surrounding area as the camera shifted again to encompass the reporter's face.

The adults watched in horror as the next words spilled from the man's mouth;

"The body was found a few feet from its organs an-"

"Mommy, Daddy, Uncle Roy what's wrong?" Elysia's voiced echoed down the hallway as Gracie intercepted her child before she could hear the reporter's voice on the news.

"Nothing, sweetie, Daddy and Uncle Roy just forgot to turn off the TV." The blonde took her child's small hand within her own and was met with a trusting smile.

"'Kay. I ate all my food! Can I have some dessert? Ice cream time!" She exclaimed happily as the mother led her child down the hallway and into her kitchen.

Maes turned to Roy, expression grim.

"What do you think?"

The onyx-eyed man considered his words, but found that there was nothing that needn't remain unsaid. He could trust Maes with his life, his thoughts came easily.

"I don't know, but whatever it is, it doesn't look like a normal homicide. It looks...purposeful. Everything seemed like it was arranged somehow. And it seems like everything in this town just became even more screwed up."

A/N:

Ahem, and so the plot thickens. I didn't truly intend to make this Hughes-centric, but the guy's just so loveable haha. I promise the next chapter will center more around Roy as his life at the station starts to turn on its head in light of the recent events!

I'd like to dedicate this to my lovely reviewers; your thoughts and encouragements mean a lot to me, so thank you all so much! (:

As always, I'd love to know what you loved and what you want more of. On the other hand, critiques are just as welcome since I want to make this story as perfect as I can for everyone who takes the time to read it.


	4. Frigid Apprehension

The Monday morning of his scheduled appointment Roy Mustang walked calmly through the double glass doors of the police station downtown at six in the morning, cup of coffee in hand. This was the optimal time to arrive and make his request; the man was sure that the only people within this building were the Chief and himself. He was careful to not spill the piping hot liquid on his uniform, setting it down with a rough _plink_ on his desk. Roy knew he had countless sleepless nights ahead of him, but he couldn't quite place the feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach. Yes, the case was already fairly abnormal, but it seemed odd that the Chief would want to dismiss the evidence so easily. Roy ran a hand through his hair in thought, completely engrossed as he entertained ideas until he felt a hand on his shoulder. The deputy whirled around to face his assailant, strong hands clenching their wrists in an iron grip, and he found the startled face of Havoc.

"Geez, Roy, don't rip 'em out of their sockets." The blonde muttered with a frown as Roy retracted his grip, and he rubbed his wrists gingerly. He glanced at the raven haired man; a slight nod was coupled with a 'Sorry' that Havoc accepted with a shrug.

"Ya seem kind of out of it today. Somebody try to kill you?" He inquired to his superior with a small chuckle, unsurprised when the deputy brushed his suspicions aside with a derisive snort.

"No, but you never know who'd want to." Roy whispered darkly, scrutinizing Havoc's face for any change in expression. A single display of disloyalty. He could never be sure—anyone who worked for him also worked for the chief. Even knowing this the man doubted the blonde subordinate would betray him; they'd saved each other's lives, and when it came down to the wire, he knew him better than the Chief ever would.

"You make it seem like you've killed a man."

"Well, I haven't purely on a whim, Havoc, because that goes against the law. So, don't we all in this job...on a request? Some more than others?" Roy inquired back, onyx eyes narrowing until the suspicion in them became uncomfortable for Havoc, even if it wasn't intended for him. He shrugged once more, watching the tension drain slightly from his superior's shoulders. He glanced surreptitiously at the oak door several feet down the hallway, then back to Roy. Jean was no fool, and having worked with the charismatic deputy for the better part of four years knew exactly what he wanted.

"Well, seems like a pretty good time to talk to him, don't you think? Before he gets busy an' all that. If you want it that bad, go for it." Havoc muttered cordially, fishing for a lighter within his pockets.

"You told me you quit smoking. For some girl or other that said she hated it." The deputy stated reproachfully, fingers twitching as he stifled the urge to take the cigarettes from his subordinate.

"Yeah, well, Chief tried to make me stop, too. Can't say I want to; it just looks too badass and besides, these things don't exactly let you go easy." Jean muttered with a smirk as he placed a hand on Roy's shoulder, leaning in to whisper in his ear, "Everyone says they quit stuff. Doesn't mean that they do. Also doesn't mean they don't lie to you 'bout other stuff, right? "

Roy felt as if the air in the room had frozen, and all warmth had fled the building. _'Yes',_ he thought as the familiar rush of oxygen filled his system once more, '_Havoc will probably help me. I'm not sure about Falman and Furey, but...Maes would never turn his back on me, or the old Chief. We owe him that much at least.' _The raven-haired man found himself forcing the disturbing memories out of his head as he walked purposefully to the Chief's office. The young man appeared to be the epitome of confidence; with his broad shoulders back and jaw locked he seemed unstoppable.

He would get down to the bottom of this—of everything he'd ever wondered—for not only himself but everyone involved, even if it could kill him.

Roy turned the chrome handle of the door to the Chief's office and stood, motionless, in the silence. He steadied his breathing and clenched his hands tightly into fists, ignoring the clamminess. His eyes rested on the raven haired man sitting in the chair facing the window, knowing his footfalls must have been heard by his superior. '_Be reasonable,' _he reminded himself, '_not desperate. You want this to help out the chief and the community. That's _**all **_you really want out of this.' _This was his mantra and the weight of the pistol against his hip was more pronounced than it had been in months.

He calmed the fire starting in his nervous system; why, he wondered, did everyone think this bastard was so innocent? Why?

"Chief Bradley, sir." Roy addressed with a salute.

The figure turned to face him, the pleasant smile on his face highlighting the crows feet of his eyes. The subordinate noticed with a hint of fear that the expression did not reach his eyes.

"Yes, Roy. What could it be so early in the morning? Surely it must be important." Bradley stated with a small chuckle, "You know it's not good to startle an old man like myself."

What could he do? The deputy smiled apologetically, "Sorry, sir, but I think if you didn't want that then you would've retired."

"Well, they understand my dedication to my work." The older gentleman said jovially, a small smile back on his features.

At this, Chief Bradley nodded and glanced to the pictures of his family and Roy couldn't help to remember the photo in his breast pocket. It felt as though it weighed two tons and the deputy resisted the urge to somehow hide it from Bradley. Yet, he wasn't sure how well he'd hidden everyone that mattered. If he hadn't done so closely enough...God, the thought alone was enough to make him regret the next words out of his mouth.

"Now then, Roy, what is it that you came to ask?" The Chief asked calmly, rising out of the chair and drawing himself to full height. The young man sucked in a rush of frigid air before speaking,

"Sir, with your permission I'd like to take over the homicide case given to us last Thursday."

The next few seconds of silence were unbearable and were broken by the equally unnerving laughter of his superior.

"Have you thought about that, Roy? Taking on a homicide...well, it's such a responsibility to prove as ambiguous a case as this one."

"I understand, and am willing to accept that."

At this, Bradley's icy gaze focused on his subordinate and Roy would later swear that he seemed more beast than human.

"But...what if you can't handle it? What if I lose my deputy? It would be entirely my fault for agreeing to this request. Disregarding that there's hardly any evidence to be found, and I'd hate to send you on a wild goose chase."

At this, Roy glanced to the ground in faux concern, seeming as though he hadn't considered this entirely plausible outcome or the lack of evidence. '_That he probably wants to keep everyone away from.'_ Yes, he would let Bradley think he was doing this as his duty.

"Sir, as your deputy it is my responsibility to handle these cases. I also work to ensure the safety of this town and its inhabitants." He paused, finding another valid concern that he hoped Bradley would buy. "Before I forget we're busy enough tracking down the last few guys we didn't find from the drug bust." The young man stated firmly, hoping that his superior would consider his argument. It seemed unlikely that he would just hand him the case, but if he didn't it would do nothing to allay Roy's suspicions. He remembered, and would use, the unsolved homicide of their last Chief as his trump card if necessary.

Chief Bradley stared at Roy in deep thought and his blood stilled in his veins. In that instant the young man knew what it was like to be hunted like prey; he knew what cold eyes that sought your death to appease their voracious appetites felt like. The young officer promised himself to never look that way upon another human being. The minute ticked by so slowly that time itself seemed to freeze, every second felt like one hundred years.

After the minute passed Roy was jolted out of his reverie by the unnerving laughter of his superior. He made no movement, leaving his eyes trained on the man who he believed was poised to kill him at any moment.

"Well now, Roy, I have to tell you that I'm quite surprised by your request."

"Sir, I..."

"No, let me finish. I'm surprised, yes, but also pleased. This station and this town needs someone willing to assume responsibility, and I knew that when the time was right you would rise to challenge. I've never doubted your quick wit, and your appointment as my deputy should prove it." Bradley looked at Roy with pride but noted that his praises did not ease the tension in the young man's shoulders nor did they cause him to unclench his fists.

Though his outward features remained fixed in a calm mask Roy was immensely relieved. He would have sighed if he had not felt trapped under Bradley's gaze. The deputy opened his mouth to convey his thanks if it wasn't for the next words out of the Chief's mouth.

"Before I do, however, I'd like to know how those meetings with your psychiatrist are progressing. It wouldn't be fitting to hand you this case if you weren't in your right mind."

Roy blanched, mind scrambling for an easy nostrum for this personal attack. He kept his breathing steady and ignored the claustrophobic feeling of how the walls seemed to cave in on him. The young man felt his heart rate double and heard his pulse humming steadily until Riza's advice from their first appointment trickled to the front of his mind and the tip of his tongue.

"The meetings...were satisfactory and I think I will attend more of them." He muttered, eyes glancing downward as he feigned reflection over his past two visits though he merely used Dr. Hawkeye's advice verbatim.

Bradley scrutinized Roy once again, resting his chin on his hands in thought. If he didn't hand his deputy the case then his suspicions would only multiply. However, if he allowed him to direct it...and he were to find something... The fact that no officer who had ever agreed to this case in the past four years did nothing to deter Roy or calm Bradley. In truth, it only made Roy's impulse to uncover the truth more prominent. This disturbed the Chief, whose twenty years of service were spotless to every civilian except the one in front of him.

The deputy was leaving him with no choice.

"Very well, you make a convincing argument. I will allow you to oversee this case," at this, Roy turned on his heel, ready to exit the room, "but", then stopped dead, his breath caught in his throat, "if I am alerted to any hint of psychological imbalance I will relieve you of the homicide case. In the event that this occurs I will also insist that you hand it, and all of your findings, over to me. Have I made myself clear?" Bradley stated his ultimatum simply, even going so far as to place a smile on his face. 'Sly bastard', Roy thought coldly, _'He's leaving me no choice but to complete this case. Even if I do, or even if I don't, I'm still screwed.'_

"Yes, Chief Bradley, sir." Roy answered in the affirmative, offering his superior officer a salute before leaving the office with even strides. He was mindful of every action so that he could decrease Bradley's suspicions, and shut the door with a faint _clunk._

If was only after he'd exited the office that he noticed that his hands were shaking and beads of cold sweat were trickling down his neck.

At least, Roy mused humorlessly, being around Dr. Hawkeye is easier than being with him.

XxXxXxX

Once again, to my lovely reviewers who keep inspiring me! Thank you for all of your support! (:  
>I hope you all enjoy this latest installment and I promise that the next chapter will be longer than the previous ones and it will consist of Riza once more.<br>As always, comments/reviews and critiques are greatly appreciated C:


	5. A Simple Exchange

Riza Hawkeye glanced about the room, making sure every last piece of furniture and item in her room was back in its proper place. To be honest, she had not been terribly excited to rearrange her room to suit her last patient—they possessed extreme Obsessive Compulsive Disorder and refused to converse with her until the flowers, clock, and chairs were perfectly symmetrical—but it was a price and possibility she had accepted upon earning her PhD. The possibility had walked into her office and life today out of one thousand, million, billion others. It was the psychiatrist's duty to help him, others like him, and people that were extraordinarily different from him. To alleviate the sufferings of people who grew to trust her with their feelings and innermost thoughts. All actions are governed by simple exchanges; all people are guided experiences, this she knew too well.

What the blonde did not know were how these experiences interfered with the life of her client Roy Mustang. Nor was she aware of any other stimuli than his uncertainties; today, she would endeavor to reach a breakthrough just as they had on his last visit. The doctor hoped for his compliance but was prepared to deal with his obstinate personality and stoic demeanor. She sighed, replacing the clip in her hair to secure every last strand before standing and shutting her laptop gently. The young woman checked the clock to find that it read 4:05 PM and decided that if her client was going to value his time more than her own she would at least entertain herself by speaking to Rebecca.

The receptionist stopped working once she heard Riza's footfalls on the hardwood floors of the hallway. "Afternoon, Riza. I just finished making a new file and updating our list of contacts to include the newest client, and Mr. Heinkel." She yawned and leaned back in her gray chair to stretch and, though she viewed the clock from an awkward position, frowned once she read the time.

"Mr. Mustang's late," Rebecca muttered with a frown, "do you think it means he's not coming?"

"No...I don't think so. He told me last week that he would continue to come by choice rather than by force." Riza informed her employee calmly, though she was beginning to grow more irked with each passing minute. The employee behind the desk sensed her employer's irritation,

After a moment of silence Rebecca grinned and said, "Five dollars says that he doesn't come."

At this, the employer glanced into the parking lot to a familiar black car. Her suspicions were confirmed when she caught sight of his familiar messy locks swaying with each step.

"I'd like to wager that ten dollars says that he arrives...now."

"Sure, if you want, but I can buy myself a latte with th-" Rebecca's jovial boast was cut short by Roy clearing his throat and raising his gaze to find Riza's. She noted with concern that he glanced at her fervently. The doctor also understood the hidden undercurrent of distress by the way he held himself; rigid with a hint of unease, the corners of his mouth twitching every so often.

"I...apologize for the delay." The deputy ground out slowly, onyx eyes locking with her amber.

"It's no trouble. I understand if there was an extenuating circumstance." She stated calmly, gesturing to the illuminated office down the hall. Roy stepped to her side, paused, and glanced at her expectantly. Riza nodded once, feeling his gaze on her until they chose their established places within her office. Her golden brows knitted together as she observed that her client sunk into the seat without hesitation, as if resigned to some burden that possessed too great of a physical weight for him to carry. _What_, she wondered, _has he done to himself?_

Riza gave her client a moment of peace so he could acclimate himself. He composed himself in a matter of sixty seconds. It was simply a trained behavior—almost a survival instinct. He had to.

Roy sat in the plush chair opposite his psychiatrist and ran a hand through his hair, trying to create a more polished appearance for himself, but resigned himself to a partially disheveled appearance as he caught Dr. Hawkeye's stony gaze. She wouldn't—didn't—care about his looks; the young doctor's only concern was his mental welfare. He reminded himself of said fact tersely as she offered him a cup of water.

"Only the best for your clients. I see you have fine china." The deputy stated with a quiet chuckle of laughter.

The corners of the young woman's mouth twitched upward once at his attempt for humor, but she handed him the white cup with smooth features and calm, watchful eyes all the same.

"Thanks." He muttered, taking the styrofoam cup from the blonde gently. He quirked an eyebrow and she said nothing, inclining her head toward the object in his calloused hands. The deputy took a few sips of the cool, clear liquid, finding with pleasure that it soothed his bone-dry throat.

"Now then, Mr. Mustang, how was your week?" She began, placing her hands in her lap with interlaced fingers. She would not, the young woman vowed, reach for the clipboard.

"It was...better than I expected it to be." He said hesitantly, wondering how much he could afford to tell her at this point.

"I see. Have there been any bouts of anxiety? Have they interfered with your personal life in any way?"

Roy looked at her for a moment before uttering a calm, "...Only a bit. It's manageable"

"Nothing too serious?"

"No," he muttered, "nothing too serious."

Riza made a mental note to herself; '_If his condition worsens remind him of available medications.' _Her eyes locked with his and she inquired,

"How was your week at the police station? Any sources of stress?"

At this inquiry, the deputy attempted to shrug noncommittally and glance at her with indifference. The corner's of Dr. Hawkeye's mouth dipped down ever so slightly as she considered this.

"...I see." She murmured quietly, observing Roy drum his fingers on the arm rest.

"Do you mind elaborating?"

He shrugged, taking the last sip of liquid from the cup. "The usual; pretty much the same as last week. Sleep's a little hard to come by—not because I can't—but I just don't have the time. I'm adjusting, so don't concern yourself with it."

The psychiatrist made an irritated noise in the back of her throat. Her amber eyes narrowed and Roy averted her gaze smoothly.

"I suppose you could say I've...gained the trust of my Chief."

Riza nodded once, gesturing for her patient to continue.

"He...", Roy struggled to mutilate his reckless request into a laureate from Bradley, "wanted to know if I could take his place if he leaves. It's-He just-he trusts me with this homicide." He finished lamely, cringing internally as the lies registered in his mind.

Riza drew in a sharp breath. Her eyes narrowed, the expression within them latching onto Roy and gripping and twisting him in their hold like an event horizon.

"He gave it to you?" She inquired suddenly, tone still even and steady. "He expects you to complete this without any consideration for your wellbeing?"

"No!" The deputy jolted, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "No. No." She raised an eyebrow.

Not after these three years. He wouldn't lose his chance. He couldn't. Not to her, not to anyone.

Roy counted his breaths. On the fifth, he decided, I will tell her. The thirty seconds required to make up his mind were horrific, a torture in their own right. He would continue; he thought of the picture and raised his gaze to meet Riza's.

In an act of insurmountable courage he uttered, "I asked for it. I wanted it."

A beat of silence. She couldn't fathom his reasons.

_Was it a matter of pride; did he want to prove himself worthy? _

_ Was it envy; did his skills pale in comparison to those of another? _

_ Was it greed; did he want this case because he would receive retribution?_

_ Was it lust; did he have some sort of alibi that needed protection?_

_ Was it gluttony; did he wish to consume everything in his path?_

_ Was it sloth; did he wish to shirk other duties and hand them to his subordinates?_

_ Was it wrath; did he enjoy the thrill of death, of crimson on his hands?_

_ Who was at fault for this quagmire—was it Roy's temerity or was it his Chief's utter lack of concern?_

"Why?" The doctor inquired calmly, assessing the frenzied look in the deputy's eyes.

"...The picture." He explained gruffly, suppressing the instinct to reach for it even now. The deputy trusted no one—least of all himself—with looking at it, but as sick as the situation was he glanced daily at the frozen memory with wistfulness. For Roy, the people in the photo qualified for his closest family members.

The only problem was that he failed to protect them.

And he knew he would spend every single day atoning for his sin if he had to.

"That doesn't shed any light on the situation, Mr. Mustang." Riza stated gently, golden brows furrowed in concern. She observed his posture; it was slack and the young woman could have sworn that he seemed...lost.

He withdrew the small square of paper from his breast pocket gingerly, glancing at it with an emotion akin to reverence.

Riza wanted to ask, to understand, but couldn't force the words out of her throat. It would be wrong, she would feel the same if he had asked about her family or wanted to see her scars.

He glanced up at her, onyx eyes staring at some phantom that she could never hope to see.

"Just...Roy." He muttered, her question effectively pulling him from peripheral thoughts.

In the following seconds Dr. Hawkeye's eyes widened, never leaving her patient's exhausted features.

"Only a handful of people call me Roy; it was easier when more did. I loathe one or two of of the handful now..." The deputy choked on his words—requesting that she use his given first name made him feel vulnerable. All of his diamond walls were made of sand and she was the relentless shore, beating against the grains because nature had wanted it just so.

His decision had sharpened his clarity; even if he wasn't completely certain that he needed to be here, it would be foolish to stop requesting her aid. He was a grown man. He was not so far gone as to dismiss the need to have someone who would watch his back—even if she wasn't aware of her task. It would be appointed; she was the type of woman who would shoulder a burden, the sharp gaze of her amber eyes told him so.

Or maybe it would be that he was using Bradley's own suggestion against him.

"So...Roy," Riza inquired again, the taste of his name strange in her mouth, "you mentioned a personal item, the trust of your chief...and you allow me to call you by your first name. Are you sure you're alright?"

The deputy shrugged. "I suppose so. Nothing seems worse, if that's what you mean. I just wanted to tell you that so you know what to expect." He chuckled wryly, the humor gone as her gaze turned to ice.

"This isn't the best for someone of your...mental state, Mr. Must—Roy. You know this as well as I do."

Roy nodded, letting his sharp tongue handle the situation.

"I know, you know, and he knows. Still, I have people that—that I owe this to, Dr. Hawkeye. You need to understand how important this it to me." His hands gripped the chair arms until the knuckles were white.

"You'd risk your mind for it." The young woman stated pointedly, taking her patient's solemn silence as a positive answer.

He said nothing, lips turning white as they were pressed into a thin line.

This was an impasse, and Riza could only think of one way.

'_God',_ she wondered, '_who is he trying to kill? Me or himself?_

She drew in a breath, "I could stop you—and if I thought that would fix the situation then I would—but if I did that you'd never go to another psychiatrist again, would you?" She inquired, pinching the bridge of her nose and sighing deeply. He made an irritated noise in the back of his throat. _'Yes'._

"I'll manage this." He stated, a haughty tone weaving it's way into his voice. Riza glared disapprovingly, effectively shooting it down.

"What you mean to say is 'You hope to manage this.'"

The opposition felt like it was crushing him.

"You...you'd deny me years?" He muttered in disbelief, "_Three damn years?_ I feel like I've spent my life getting close to him, watching him, waiting for this chance. You think you can ruin it?" Roy had jolted from his seat, the energy compelling him to stride around the room in suppressed fury.

Again, the woman witnessing was merely an outlet for three years ago.

"No. I don't think I could...deprive you of that." She answered slowly, the mask of rage receding from her patient's face.

"Then what?" He quipped hotly, eyes narrowed.

"What I want to do is hope that you take this," Riza said, handing him a slip of paper with several options of medication, "and consider them seriously for future anxieties. I also think you have more than a few buried sources of stress. I will help you deal with them accordingly. I will also be here to speak with you every Monday from 4 P.M. To 5:30 P.M. You must know that this may either benefit or severely hinder your condition. I expect that you drop this case if it turns to be more responsibility than you can assume. I also will speak with your chief about this decision—if we are in agreement then someone will shoulder this with you."

At this, the dying ember of fury roared to life, and he could only look at his psychiatrist with a mixture of contempt for meddling in his affairs and respect for her unwavering tenacity and courage.

Yes, this newest piece to his black and white board at home seemed valuable enough. Though, when Roy looked back on the situation, he always assumed he'd be the one placed in check mate first.

.xXx.

From across the street, and well after 6 P.M., a raven haired woman quickly wrote down the license plate of one Dr. Riza Hawkeye as the car passed by the curb. Fifteen minuets later she received a prompt call.

"Can you hear me?" The voice crackled from the spotty connection; the rain not aiding the conversation in the slightest. The woman pulled her black trench coat again, making it cover her body.

"Yes?" She inquired cooly, voice dripping with satisfaction and even a touch of boredom as she adjusted her umbrella to shield her lush hair from the elements.

"Do you have it?"

"Oh, don't be silly, _Chief. _When did I ever fail you?" She crooned, a catlike grin snaking from one corner of her maroon lips to the next, and ending the call with the sharp snap of a shutting cellphone.

She replayed the last words of the call, '_How good of you, Solaris.'_ and let the rhythm of her heels clicking against the pavement take her back to her office.

She contemplated how one single, simple exchange could send a person's life spiraling out of control as she considered informing the other six on her phone.

XxXxXxXxX

A/N: Happy Valentines Day, dear readers! :D

I'm sorry for the delay, but the amount of school work I've been assigned has been spiraling out of control lately. I hope you're at least pleased with this latest installment, but I find it a bit lacking :/

Ah well, I hope to give you the newest chapter soon!

Reviews are greatly appreciated, they help keep me inspired.


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